The fifth day was, luckily, sunny. The downside was that the rain had also been followed by a rather intense heat wave, and the two would both find themselves sweaty upon waking, the tent smelling more like foxes than it had the rest of the week. Tros was the first to head straight out from the tent into the water, both of them having slept in the nude the night before. He would dip all the way down to the shoulders and stand there, basking in it, before coming back to make coffee, his eyes still half-asleep as Nico came walking out a few minutes after, doing the same, soaking in the water to beat the heat, muggy and sticky on the fur.

"S'gonna be a scorcher today, we oughtta try t' stay in the shade. Got a big day tomorrow, too," Tros said. He'd already discussed it with Nico, so the young fox knew. Tomorrow, they were going to hunt again, certain that the second would go better than the first. 

"Whattaya wanna do today?" Nico would ask.

"Whatta YOU wanna do today?" Tros would answer. Good question, the young fox thought. He knew what he wanted, yes, but it was definitely not what Tros had in mind. More of what happened last night would be nice, the boy imagined in his head, but instead he'd give an open-ended "iuno" in reply.

"I say we take a hike around the perimeter'a the pond, see how we feel. It'd be good t' get some exercise at least, not t' sit around all day" Tros said, already able to tell he was going to be sweating through whatever he wore. He'd root around in the tent for a minute for his previously wet clothes, giving Nico a momentary view of the old fox on his hands and knees, his tail revealing his backside to the young boy. Tros' clothes were dry, so as he tugged them on he'd remember that his shirt was covered in semen from the night before, so he'd take it for a dunk in the water to wash it, which pleasantly cooled it as he tugged it on, the fabric sticking to his ribby, thinning body.

Once the pair were dressed and booted and full of breakfast, Tros packed up a few waters in a backpack and the pair started on a trek, staying in the grassiness and the shade of the trees, out of direct sunlight. It wasn't a remarkable hike, the other side of the pond was clearly visible, but it least allowed them to be active for a while, even if only for an hour or so. A mostly uneventful walk, Tros chatted idly about things he could find to talk about, mainly stories about Ganymede, about his parents, about what it was like growing up. In a lull between stories, though, Nico would ask "did you enlist in Vietnam, or didja get drafted?"

"I enlisted. I ain't wanna enlist, but...I was young, I ain't have much job prospects, daddy was bustin' my ass to make myself useful and I was just goin' out partying. Felt like it'd put my head on straight or somethin'. Mama ain't way me to go, but I woulda ended up getting drafted anyway, I was in my early 20's and in good shape. So I enlisted. My brother got drafted though, he didn't wanna go at all. Never been the same afterward."

"What happened?" Nico asked.

"I don't--like--I'on't even think he saw all that much combat," Tros began, a clear frustration in his voice, "I mean I know he saw some. But he wasn't as deep in it as I was, but after he came home he just never could get his shit back together. He was always drunk, always gettin' arrested. He was always a fuck-off before the war but he could hold a job--like yer daddy. A functional fuck-off. They can drink, they can work, they ain't no good at bein' reliable but they're employed. After the war, though, he just acted like the world owed him somethin'."

"Y' keep sayin' 'was' when you talk about him, is he...?" Nico began to speak, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"He's alive, last I checked, but he's been in and outta jail so many times and he's moved in and outta so many women's houses that I ain't got a clue where he is nowadays. Heard from my sister Tethys that he's alive, though."

Nico had opened his mouth to ask another question, but that would have to wait, it seemed, because Tros would let out a chuckle and immediately follow with "lemme tell y' a little about your ancestors, by the way. Y' ever wondered why there's a buncha weird mythological names in this side'a the family?"

Nico gave an affirmative "mhm" as Tros carried on.

"Well, my granddaddy, James--plain-ass James--and his wife Seba were moonshiners. Plain old country folk. Seba was a housewife, James made shine, so you'd think that they'd'a named their kids normal, traditional southern names. But! James had a buddy that read fuckin' mythology, and when they were pregnant with their first son, he talks James into namin' him fuckin' Dardanus, from Greek mythology. Dardanus ends up marryin' a school teacher who ALSO has an interest in mythology, so they name me Tros, which is nice because they ALMOST named me Erichthonius, which woulda for sure hurt the amount'a girls I bagged in my younger years."

"And you kept goin' along with it?"

Tros would groan, almost like he couldn't believe he'd done in, in retrospect, going "yes, gah'dammit, my dumb ass got talked into it. Rufus was my first boy. Then when Maidean was pregnant with the next one, I was readin' fables and we decided on Hersent, from the Reynard fables. She's not the best character in the stories but I thought the name was so beautiful. Meanwhile daddy and mama were bustin' my ass like 'y' gotta keep the mythology naming thing alive' so I caved and named your daddy Ganymede, which I--to this day--regret. Dumb-ass name. Maybe that's why he turned out the way he did. Anyway, after that I was in the clear, so I named the last two Tennessee and Rudolph."

Nico listened intently, but it was hard to imagine how much family he had that he'd never met. He knew one of Tros' sisters had passed because it had happened a few years ago. Tros wasn't particularly close with them, though, and he'd seemed to have taken it well. 

"I wanted t' name your daddy Austin, but here we are. Maybe he would'a turned out different." Tros remarked.

"Y' think?" Nico asked.

"Iuno. I don't really get your daddy. All my kids were raised right. I won't mean to 'em, but I won't too nice neither. His mama spoiled 'em but I always kept 'em in line. Rufus went t' college. Hersent joined the military. Tennessee's got his own farm now, and Rudy's got like some six figure factory job. They all turned out well. I don't get why Gan just failed t' launch. Part'a me thinks he's simple."

"Simple?"

"S'a nice word for 'retarded'. But he ain't retarded. He's just so damn frustrating. The boy gets handed a manager job makin' good money and he's always broke. Where's it even go? He should have his own house. But instead he's not even payin' his electricity on time. He'll call and ask me t' borrow money t' get to pay day. Jupiter Motors should be a cash cow, he's got a team'a good boys workin' there with good reviews. And him always runnin' off, partyin', gettin' with girls, drinkin', it just don't make sense."

Indeed, it didn't make much sense to a slowly understanding Nico, either. His father had never been a cruel man, but he'd never been much of a father. To his credit, he had been a single father since Nico's infancy, with Nico's mother Fenne having gotten arrested and put in jail shortly after Nico's first birthday. After jail, she never really came back into the picture, and ended up behind bars several more times. Ganymede had Tros and, for several years, his wife Maidean as well, who often watched young Nico so Ganymede could go to work. He worked part-time for many years, and he managed to keep his bills paid during that time, but when Nico was around 8, Ganymede was offered a major promotion at his local garage, Jupiter Motors, and was given full-time. At that point, though, Ganymede seemed to only get less responsible. He spent frivolously, bills started getting neglected, and he started leaving Nico alone more often. 

Nico was always fed, always clothed, and always housed, but he was rarely engaged with in attentive, parental ways. It showed in the boy's insecurities, his nervousness, his connection issues. Nico's time with Tros, however, was less frequent but far more attentive. He was played with, he was talked to, he was watched, and perhaps it was that, Tros thought, that drew Nico so confusedly close to him, the loving but distant familial relationship the two had. 

"Y' turned out alright though, that's all that matters. I can tell you'll be fine." Tros said, stopping to look across the pond, pointing out that their tent was visible in the distance. "Fine" was a strange word to use, Nico thought, with how weird he'd been acting all week so far. Even with the moments the two men had shared together, he craved so much more, and he knew that Tros knew that. Still, his grandfather seemed alright with it, though Nico wondered if Tros realized just how far his offspring wanted to go with him. The young boy's excitable mind was full of all sorts of ideas as the conversation lulled and the two continued walking. Tros' shirt had dark spots on it where he was sweating, and the boy behind him could only imagine how good he must've smelled underneath that fabric. An adventurous interest would pull the boy forward, catching up to Tros, sticking close behind him, trying to smell his musks as they radiated off of him.

He was, much to his pleasant surprise, easily able to detect it, his grandfather having not brought any sort of deodorizer, and Nico found himself allowed a momentary decadence in the stink of sweat downwind from the older male he so desperately desired, cut short after a minute or two as an attentive Tros would remark "y' sniffin' awful loud back there, bud". Nico's ears would bolt upright and Tros, without looking back, would snap his fingers to call Nico to his side, having the two keep pace as cut a smirk to Nico.

"I dated this girl for a while before my wife, a wolverine gal. Loved the way she smelled. 'Course, she ain't try to embrace it. Women are like that. She'd wear lotsa fragrances and musk deodorizers and she'd shower daily, all that stuff. She smelled gorgeous like that too, a'course, but there was nothin' I loved more than her smell. Strong, natural, it'd stick to your clothes. I'd leave her house and wear the same shirt the rest'a the weekend just cause it always smelled like her."

"What happened to her?" Nico asked.

"She ain't ever want kids. I told her I'd want to have 'em eventually, and she made it clear that won't ever gonna happen. We stayed together a while longer but the more I pressed on wanting 'em, the less she wanted me around." Tros shrugged. The older fox would extend a hand and let it rest against his grandson's back as they walked, as if trying to keep Nico beside him. 

"I always knew I wanted t' be a daddy one day, even when I was younger. Think that mighta' been a big reason why I didn't wanna settle down with Clyde. That and it just ain't feel right t' me at the time, bein' more than a buddy to a man, but I just knew I'd want kids one day."

"Did you love him?" Nico asked.

"I don't know, Tros replied, "I didn't think I did at the time, but spendin' the week here with you and thinkin' about all the time I spent with him on tour, I think maybe I did. I did miss him, when we went home. And I wrote him a few times, though I ain't ever said nothin' about our time in war. He wrote me back, but eventually I stopped answering. I met Maidean, settled down with her, felt weird talkin' to a fling like that when I had babies on the way."

"Y' should write him back now, see how he's doin'." Nico replied. Tros gave a dismissive "naaawww" in reply, but said nothing afterward. He was clearly thinking on it.

After what felt like a good few minutes of silence and walking, he would ask "y' think I should?"

"Yeah," Nico said, "I bet he misses you, even if he's got a husband now or whatever."

"Hmm," Tros said aloud, "maybe I will. Would be nice gettin' to show him my grandson, too."

The air outside was oppressively warm at this point, and Tros had taken a pause to guzzle down his water, handing Nico his as well, the two standing at about the halfway point, their tent and camp right across the pond as Tros leaned against a tree and let himself relax. Nico would sit right down in the dirt, the sound of bugs and birds loud in the air as they had their respite. 

"So do y' only like boys? Or do y' just like boys more than girls?" Tros would ask.

"Iuno. I haven't found any girls I like yet but I don't think they're gross. There's a girl in my science class, I really like her fur color, but I feel weird thinkin' about, like...bein' her boyfriend or whatever."

"What species is she?"

"Coyote," Nico replied, an approving nod from Tros.

"Y' ought to take a shot with it, polecat. Never know."

"Maybe," Nico said, contemplative. Though it was hard to imagine him with anyone his age, let alone a woman, his grandpa's encouragement did allow his mind to consider it, for a moment, the thought of sitting close to her, holding her hands, smelling her.

"C'mon, y' want me to hit up my old fling, 'least you can do is try t' talk to a girl," Tros would grin down at his grandson, who smiled bashfully as he looked away with a "fiiine". He'd try, at least, he thought to himself.

"I'll hold y' to it. I'ma come over in a week and i'm gonna ask y' how she responded!" Tros replied.

Nico, admittedly, wanted much more to pursue janitor Holtz than he did the coyote girl in his class, but Tros didn't need to know that. He'd at least take his shot, he thought as he finished off his water, crushing it before handing it back to Tros to tuck in his backpack. Eventually, the pair were off again, and as they walked, Nico would tuck his hands in his pocket and make sure Tros' ID was still in there, thankfully finding it still tucked away, waiting to be taken home. He wondered if Tros would even notice it gone.

The rest of the walk was largely uneventful, but as they eventually returned to the camp, they found themselves both soaked in sweat, eager to wash off in the pond. Tros tossed his backpack in the trunk of the raider and was quick to step out of his shirt, tossing his dirty clothes in a duffel bag along with the clothes from yesterday, laying out his hunting attire for tomorrow and his clean clothes for today. After having stripped nude, though, he'd start the raider's engine, crawling in the back seat to have himself a little rest in the cool of the air conditioning, letting it run to make sure the battery didn't die before they set out for home. As he sat nude in the back seat, though, he could smell himself, that skunky, onion-y smell of fox musk and body odor, the old male ripe with a strong, masculine aroma, and an idea popped in his head that he had to sit and consider for a moment, whether or not it was a good one. Finally, with some consideration, he'd call out to Nico for the raider, calling him to come over.

Nico would pad over and find his grandpa relaxing in the back seat, driver's side, naked, his arm over the back of the bench seat, the older fox's head leaned back with his eyes closed as he said "lose the clothes an' enjoy the A/C with me for a bit, polecat, s'hot outside". The situation, to Nico, could not have been simultaneously more enticing and more awkward if Tros had tried. What was happening, Nico thought? Still, no protest came from the boy as he stripped down and hopped in the back seat, passenger side, of the raider, shutting his door and letting the air vents blow cool air on his damp body, leaning back in his seat as he basked in the stale scent of cigarette smoke and musty interior.

Amidst those smells, though, were the mephitic musks of his grandfather, eyes closed, his posture clearly sleepy as he let the air conditioning chill the sweat damp on his entire body. His body was not only on full display in the daytime sun, but his smells were so intense in the confines of the car, the windows rolled up, the A/C serving mainly to swirl the scents around in the vehicle, leaving Nico feeling like his brain was the one being swirled around, a heady confusion that left him, unsurpsingly, stiff and feisty once more.

Tros had opened his eyes for a minute to look at the time, the green digital clock on the dashboard reading that it was about fifteen past noon, and while Tros' eyes were open he'd look over to see Nico sitting there, stiff-shouldered, looking out the window unconvincingly, his dick standing straight up.

"I'ma take me a li'l fifteen minute shut-eye, polecat, wake me at 12:30 if I ain't up," the old fox began as he reclined his seat a bit more, eyes already closed again as he told Nico, "y' can make yourself comfy, too, yaknow."

There were a thousand things Nico thought Tros could've meant by the words "make yourself comfy", but he would try to take it the most literally, leaning back as well, angling his body so he was leaning back against his own side of the car, not wanting to risk misconstruing Tros' suggestions. Still, there his grandpa was, on full display, his arm raised to show off the generously hairy armpit he sported, bushy silver body hair oily with sweat, stinking of his distinctly masculine familial musk. It was driving Nico wild, and the boy would make that evident as he started sniffing the air, leaning just a tiny bit closer to Tros to see what smells he could pull in the distance between them.

Tros, however, was not unaware of this, having not yet fallen asleep, and his eyes would remain closed as he told Nico "yes, y' can sniff under my arm. Nowhere else though. And don't forget t' wake me."

Nico didn't want to ask for clarity. He didn't want to risk being told "no" if he asked Tros if he really meant what he said. Instead, he would lean in with no hesitancy, his warm snout pressing up under his grandfather's underarm, bristling his nose with wirey silver hair as he pulled a deep, long sniff into his senses, exhaling out the mouth, no words, letting it intoxicate him with pheromones. Tros didn't seem to be the ticklish type, because after only a minute or so of being sniffed, he was snoring, clearly having meant it when he said he was going to take a nap. 

His elderly body was so gorgeous to behold in the light, though, the silver and white of his hair glistening with sweat as the A/C fought to dry him off, so dense between his legs. Nico wanted so badly to sniff that silvery bush, to taste it, but he'd been told explicitly where to stay, and he wanted to obey his grandfather's every word. The boy would lean forward, both his hands pressed into the back seat as he supported himself up, his nose pressing down into the skin beneath the fur, rubbing Tros' sweat on his nose as he sat there, sniffing his scent and only his scent, the stale tobacco and must of the raider undetectable at this point. Nico had never been drunk, but he felt sure that he felt similarly in that moment, his head almost spinning, his senses deluged with desire, confusion, excitement. He wanted to lick, but he hadn't been told he could lick, so he just sat there, the full fifteen minutes, his dick aching between his legs as he breathed his grandfather's scent.

12:30 came painfully fast. Nico could've spent hours longer in that one space, on that one smell, but he would sit back in his seat and shake his grandpa slightly, waking him as Tros blinked sleepily to life, looking up to see it was 12:31, then looking over to Nico to see he was sitting there, awkwardly, acting like he didn't have a boner between his legs. Tros didn't say a word, rather, he would scoot a bit toward the middle seat, his extended arm hooking around Nico's shoulder and pulling him in, pulling him until they were touching sides. 

"Y' like the way that girl's coat looks, huh?" Tros would ask as his hand rubbed Nico's shoulder a bit, squeezing the pair's nude bodies together as he asked "y' wanna sniff her?"

"Yeah," Nico admitted, Tros replying "tell me about it" as he reached down and began jiggling at his own limp piece, waggling it until it began to stir a bit. Nico's eyes popped open as he looked down at Tros, wanting to ask questions but also wanting to savor the situation as he reached his own hand between his legs, grabbing hold of his dick that had been so agonizingly wanting his attention for the past fifteen minutes.

"She's really pretty, yellow eyes, grey, black, brown coat. She looks like halloween." Nico said as he started to stroke himself, Tros nodding along slowly as he started to stir himself to half-erection. He, of course, wasn't thinking of the girl of Nico's desires, rather of another time in his life, a pleasant memory of his own desires.

"Y' think she smells good?" Tros asked. Nico shivered at the thought of it. It was hard to think of her while he felt like he was suffocating in the smell of his own grandfather's sweaty body, the warmth of sinewy skin underneath soft, damp fur, the musk of a man in his senses as he stammered out "y-yeah...yeah."

"Sounds like y' like her", Tros said, now fully erect. His mind had, ironically, wandered to a man, a familiar man from his past, Clyde Arthur. His pumping was slow, as he liked it, slow and calm.

"I do, I like her a lot."

"Y' gonna try t' talk to her?" Tros asked. Nico nodded, a breathy "yeah," as he found himself wandering through various ideas in his head, of the coyote girl, of janitor Holtz, of Tros. His head was spinning with ideas, and Tros would squeeze his shoulder with an approving "attaboy" as the two rested there in the cool air of the raider, jerking off together. Nico would, for a moment, dare to reach his hand for Tros, only for Tros to catch him and reprimand him before he made contact with an "ah ah, remember, hands t' yerself".

The boy nodded, not wanting to risk ruining the moment. Tros was so warm, his embrace so soothing, the boy's head on Tros' collarbone as he watched his grandpa pleasure himself, the musk of his underarm cloudy around the boy's head as he thought about the various crushes he had. The more he thought about the coyote girl, the more he wanted to go for it. Of course, the more he thought about the janitor, he also wanted to go for him as well. He also wanted to cum, bad, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to see Tros finish first.

Several minutes would pass, Tros' hand movements staying slow, Nico getting a view of how his aged body moved as he pleasured himself, his eyes closed, his head back, his muscles tensing. His dick was so long, such a gorgeous piece, the boy wanted so badly to dip his head between his legs and swallow it down. He knew better, though, knowing he shouldn't breach the bond between them in that moment. Tros' pace had increased, his breathing was getting faster, heavier, his mouth had opened slightly, his panting audible as he breathed a whispered "watch yer face, bud", Tros would scoot his ass forward a bit, angle himself up, to his belly, and Nico would get a front row seat to his grandfather climaxing, shooting generous ropes of messy seed up in jets upward, onto his belly. His cum was much more watery than Nico's, and he came preposterously more, his body making slight jerking movements as his free hand squeezed Nico into as much of a side hug as he could muster.

Nico wanted to wait, just a bit longer, but he couldn't. His hand was barely touching his own dick as he shot up his own belly as well, much less productive of a load, much more dribbling, but messy nonetheless, all over his belly. The two would pump until they were drained, and Tros' grip on Nico's shoulder would relax, the old fox leaning a bit away from him as Nico leaned a bit away as well, into their respective seats. Tros said very little in the few minutes afterward, as they basked in the afterglow, but eventually he'd lick his chops a few times and give a nod.

"Sounds like y' like that girl more than y' thought," he would say, wiping his hand on his stomach as he leaned forward and opened the front door, pulling the lever to push the front seat up so he could step out. He'd turn off the raider and brace both hands on the doorframe, leaning into the backseat with a smile on his face as he said, "enjoy that by the way, s'the only time we're doin' it. You're welcome."

He'd cut his grandson a wink before taking his keys to the tent, hollering "i'm goin' for a swim!" from the distance as Nico sat there, dazed, thrilled, confused. Had any of that even just happened? He was too hot and sticky to ask himself questions, and he'd had too much fun to really care. He was in the pond only a few minutes after Tros, scrubbing himself clean while the older fox stood by and talked about some of his experiences with women himself, about half of them faring halfway decent.

After a scrub, though, the afternoon had settled on the boys, and their day would be an unremarkable winding down in preparation for a much bigger tomorrow. Lunch was filling, and after the two had finished eating, Tros was sitting drinking beer in the afternoon while Nico relaxed in the dirt nearby, laying on his back and gazing up at the blue sky.

"Buddy," Tros said, sipping beer that was tragically warm, "can I ask y' a favor?"

Nico would look from the blue sky to his grandfather, asking "yeah, what's up?"

"I know I told y' a lot of cool stories about my time in 'Nam and, don't get me wrong, i'm real proud'a them, but can you...promise me y' won't join the military?"

Nico hadn't any plans of doing so, being entirely too small and, frankly, too gay for what he assumed they wanted in a man, but he found it odd that Tros would request against it after all the tales he'd told of how fun and empowering it was.

"Yeah, I promise, but why?" Nico would ask.

"S'selfish of me t' ask, it really is, but I really like havin' you in my life. You're gettin' close to the age where you could enlist and, well, I--it's awful'a me--I just don't wanna think about not havin' you around."

Tros wasn't looking at Nico while he talked, almost seeming like this was truly a difficult thing for him to admit. He'd gone into the military, and some of his children had as well, but as he looked out to the water he'd add "I just love ya, buddy, a whole lot."

"I love you too," Nico replied quietly, "your stories are cool and all but I didn't even wanna do nothin' like that" the boy said, assuredly. Tros would sigh, smiling.

"Good. I'm gettin' old, after all, someone's gotta be around t' wipe my ass and bathe me 'cause I ain't lettin' y'all put me in a home and your daddy damn sure ain't step up t' take care of me." Tros would laugh, Nico laughing as well.

Later that evening, the two were getting ready for bed, and Tros would dig around in some of the bags he'd brought and pull from it a plain metal flask, as well as a shotglass as he looked to Nico and asked "y' drank alcohol yet?"

"No," the boy replied honestly.

"Good. S'bad for you. Rots your liver. S'why I got liver spots now." Tros lied. Nico didn't know well enough to doubt him.

"But," the old fox continued, "i'm havin' a nip t' get to bed early. Y' wanna try some?"

Tros poured himself a shot and tossed it back, unflinching, before pouring Nico one as well, handing to the boy. Nico sniffed it, finding the aroma woody, unappealing, alcoholic.

"Do I just...drink it fast?" the boy asked.

"Try it first, then throw it back like medicine."

The young boy would indeed dip his tongue into the shotglass and look up with a pleasant light in his eyes, like the flavor on the tongue wasn't terrible. That foolish confidence, though, would soon fade as he tossed back the shot, swallowing it in one gulp and immediately hacked, fanning at his tongue like he'd swallowed something spicy as he barked out "IT BURNS?" asked more like a question than a statement. Tros would pat the boy on the shoulder as Nico held his throat, alarmed and asking "why's it BURN" to a grandfather who simply let it happen, rubbing Nico reassuringly as he asked him "ain't no fun is it?"

"N-No!" Nico barked, Tros taking another pull from his flask before screwing the lid on, tucking it away.

"Good. Don't ever start drinkin'."

After that, teeth were brushed, the tent was zipped, "goodnight" kindnesses were issued, and the boys were asleep, just as the sun was setting. A big day was ahead of them.